


Death of a Thousand Cuts

by tenaya



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode: s02e08 The Chicago Way, F/M, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Masturbation, Mick misses Len, Missing Scene, POV Mick Rory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 10:06:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8840410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenaya/pseuds/tenaya
Summary: Mick is depressed and tired of it all.  He thinks of better times as he tries an age old way to self comfort himself.





	

Mick leaned his head back and drained his beer. It wasn’t even very good beer but when he set the empty down on the floor, it finished off the last of a twelve pack he’d brought in earlier in the evening. Sighing, he cast his eyes around his man cave for something else to do but he couldn’t muster up the energy to work out, or tinker on any of his projects. He was exhausted but still couldn’t sleep. That was happening a lot lately. He’d hoped that the vicious all-out fight with the aliens would make him tired enough to sleep, but no such luck. He sighed again. He was so tired of it all.

Maybe whacking off would help. He flicked a glance at his door to check it was closed then wiggled further down into the padded chair and spread his legs further apart. He closed his eyes and moved his right hand down until it cupped his dick. He rubbed himself through the cloth and felt it perk up at the attention. Good. Now for a little assist.

His thoughts drifted to Skirt. She was young, fresh, pretty and dressed like a cheer leader. That had been a favorite fantasy of his when he was a teenager, so much so, that he’d even hung out at the local high school games until he caught the eye of a wild one. One night they had snuck back into the school grounds at midnight and fucked naked on the fifty yard line. He smiled at the memory and his dick started to thicken, pushing at the clothing restraining it. He unzipped his jeans and pulled it out, enjoying its warm heft in his hand. He grunted as he felt heat pooling deep in his groin. He felt good. Real good. The throbbing of the thickening meat in his hand was proof that he was alive after all.  

He squeezed his cock and pictured Skirt again, imagining her sitting in his lap with her delicate fingers around his dick, but after a few moments, he realized that it wasn’t working. He tried to picture her on her knees with her mouth open, her pink tongue licking her lips as she leaned nearer. He spat into his hand and used the slick to make his rhythmic motion easier, faster, expertly keeping most of the movement in his wrist.

After a couple of minutes, things hadn’t progressed. He spat again into his palm and concentrated on her eyes. He’d made a point of looking closely at them because of that heat vison thing she did. They were normal looking eyes--more of a grey than blue and they even had little bits of hazel around the centers. They reminded him of Snart’s eyes, actually, except Snart’s pupils were ringed with a little more hazel, like a thin starburst.

Quickly, the fantasy body in his lap became Snart’s—strong and mature, experienced, and graced with a confident smirk that made Mick think his partner not only enjoyed the Seven Deadly Sins but had been instrumental in inventing at least three of them.

His dick jerked in his hand and started to harden and Mick zeroed in on Snart’s image. He pictured him with his hair a little longer, maybe a quarter inch, just long enough to start to lie down. A touch of that five o’clock shadow along the edge and underside of his jaw that kept his boyish looks from being bland. That sinful, knowing grin. Had to have him in one of those long-sleeved t-shirts Len preferred to wear--the scars they hid carried too much baggage and if they caught Len’s eye, they’d distract him from his pursuit of pleasure. And if they didn’t, Mick would be distracted by waiting for that ticking time bomb to go off. It was just easier that he wear one if they were going to fuck with the lights on.

Mick’s dick was straight and hard now, so he added more detail. He pictured Len in Mick favorite position, with the younger man straddling him, riding his dick shamelessly. Mick especially liked the way Len would stare intently into his eyes while they fucked, like maybe looking at Mick was necessary for him to come. Yeah, that was working. Nothing like one of Len’s long, slow screws. The man had patience and always had a plan. Mick could feel pre-cum leaking onto his knuckles when he passed his fingers over the head of his cock. He was getting close and he squeezed his eyes shut tighter in preparation.

Mick threaded his other hand under his shirt and rolled a nipple around until it hardened. Len liked to control Mick’s body like he was orchestrating a heist. He’d play with Mick’s tits and he’d time it just right when to pinch a nipple, right when he was moving upwards so the pain was in synch to the pleasure of the suction on his dick. Mick pinched his nub and used a blunt nail to scrap the tip and it went straight to his cock. He felt his legs start to stiffen, his toes curling just as—

“Hey Mick!” Nate said. “What did you mean when you said-- Holy crap! Are you…? What the hell?! Don’t you know enough to lock your door before you—“

“Get the fuck out of here, asshole!” Mick shouted, rearing up in his chair and so incredibly angry.

“Maybe in prison being an exhibitionist is the norm, but not here!” Nate said, embarrassed and going on the attack.

“My fucking door was shut! OUT!!” he roared.

With a final disgusted look, Nate backed out of the room and shut the door after him.

Mick flopped back on his chair, his hand still gripping his dick but it was wilting fast. He closed his eyes and tried to picture Len again but his carefully constructed phantom was shattered. Gone. Len was gone.

Len was gone and Mick would never see him again.

Mick’s chested _ached_ and he felt hot tears running from the corner of his eyes. Shit! He had tears in his ears and his life had turned into some pathetic Country song. Angrily, he tucked himself away, feeling nothing but miserable and pitiful.  He shook his head to get rid of the tears but when he sank back in the chair, they just started pooling in his ears again.

He didn’t know what he was doing on this ship any more. His existence was without joy and the only thing that brought any life to it anymore was the chance for violence and fire--and lately he found he had to work up his enthusiasm to set something alight.

He thought of how after Len teased him enough, Mick would grab him, roll them over while Len laughed with delight and then he’d pound into his lover until moans of pleasure would replace the laughter and Len would grip him tight with his arms and legs and come hard, still staring intently into Mick's eyes.

That would never happen again.

He missed Len. He was missing him more and more instead of less as time passed. He was missing him with so much intensity that his pain was now debilitating. Each day was harder and harder to face. He didn’t see anyway forward.

Only out.

He was so tired.

 

***

  


The next day a piercing alarm went off and Mick walked quickly to the bridge just in case there was an actual emergency. Figured it’d be fucking Nate that would have set up that alarm.

1927? Well, that was better than rot gut and horse shit. Prohibition though. That sucked. Gonna make it harder to stock up on some hard liquor.

And then Nate started lecturing. “…Under Capone, Chicago was a hotbed of vice: illegal drinking, gambling,” and pointing to Mick, he ended with, “prostitution.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see matching smirks on Ray and Sara’s faces. Son of a bitch! Had that fucker told the others what he’d seen? What he interrupted Mick at?

He muttered something about getting started and turned away. Leave it to these assholes to sully the remembrance of his partner of by making a mockery of it.

He was just so tired of their comments, their disrespect, their laughter.

He was so tired of it all.

**Author's Note:**

> Like many others, I've not been happy to watch as Mick is mocked by his teammates, sinking deeper into depression and start drinking in a serious, not-for-fun way. Nate pointing to Mick while listing prostitution as something Mick might be especially interested in during 1927 needed addressing. This is what fanfic is for--fixing the screw-ups of the 'pros' who get paid to blunder about.
> 
> As always, comments are deeply appreciated. Thank you for reading.


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